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"Twelfth?" he repeated, brows furrowing.
"Well, There must be something wrong with my phone because it doesn't have your number in it is a hard one to beat. Yet it lacked the cutesy originality of Say, didn't we go to different schools together, so I feel safe ranking it at twelve for now."
There were a few beats before that stern brow of his went from confused to disinterested. "You aren't supposed to be here."
"This is a business district. I have business here," I told him, leaving out the fact that my business involved stalking. Normal people generally didn't want to hear things like that.
"Not anymore. Go. And don't come back."
"Okay, Mr. Bossypants," I said, rolling my eyes. I had a pretty long fuse, but holier-than-thou people and bossy people rubbed me the wrong way. "I don't know what voice in your head told you that you have any authority here, but you can fuck right off. Off," I added when he just stood there, brows pinched, "You. Fuck," I added when he didn't seem to get the point.
My finger was just jabbing into the window button when his voice rang out once again.
"Whatever issue you have with Michael, get the fuck over it. Stop stalking him," he added as my finger jabbed the ignition.
Nope.
No no no.
I couldn't have him finding me out.
Scaring me off.
I had to get out of there before he could figure out who I was.
I would like to say I peeled out, but cars like mine, well, they didn't do much peeling. They silently hummed out of there.
Which was what mine did.
It hummed.
Until it maybe thunked.
Just a little.
Like the back bumper did a little bump.
You know, into the guy.
But just a little bump.
Fine.
Enough to make him hit the ground.
But he got right back up.
I checked.
I even stopped for a minute, waiting to see if he was reaching to call an ambulance or something.
I wasn't stupid. I wasn't going to risk a hit-and-run charge just to avoid a stalking one. Since there was no actual proof of my stalking either.
He didn't reach for his phone.
He just stood there, shaking his head at me.
Figuring it was safe to go, I floored it.
Electric cars got a bad rep sometimes. It seemed like my car was aware of this, and decided to overcompensate on acceleration, careening me down a side street before I could even pull in a full breath.
"Shit. Shit shit shit," I hissed, slamming my hand against the steering wheel as I waited at a red light.
I will admit to just about anyone that I was a pretty horrible driver. But even I obeyed red lights.
My heartbeat skittered around the whole time I drove, doing so on autopilot, barely even aware of my surroundings, too consumed with the swirling thoughts in my head about the potential repercussions that came with Michael hiring a private security team.
See, I grew up around people like Michael. I knew the kinds of people they hired when they got worried about their safety. And they weren't the kinds of guys you found on a quick Google search.
No.
They were the kind of people who knew how to make problems go away. Permanently. You know, if legal channels didn't work out.
I wasn't sure which was more unsettling--trying to dodge an early grave, or having my name dragged through the mud if Michael tried to prosecute me.
Because, well, it wasn't just my name.
It was my family name.
"Jesus," I mumbled when I finally pulled the car to a stop, finding that I hadn't driven myself home at all.
Nope.
I had driven myself to work.
In a way, I guess that made sense.
Work was where I spent the lion's share of my time. So much time that I actually had a little storage room's cabinets ripped out so I could shove a twin mattress in there for the nights when I worked too late and was too tired to drive home.
I hadn't always been a workaholic, but things had changed over the past two years. In amazing ways. And tragic ways. And amazing ways again.
I felt emotionally whip-lashed by the way my life had jerked around for approximately the past couple of years.
There was grief so deep it had etched itself into my bones.
And there was joy that made me feel like a terrible person for experiencing.
This building, though, this was the best thing. As well as the people inside of it. Well, that would be inside of it again when it was open.
It was a bittersweet victory, though, seeing as the only reason I got to be in that building was because of the worst thing that had ever happened to me.
I shook my head, slipping the car into park, resting my head against the wheel, taking a few deep, clarifying breaths.
I wanted to tell myself to stop thinking about those bad things. But those bad things were the reason I left work, drove across town, and parked outside an office building, why I spent my weekends following a car around.
